Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
Ryan
In hindsight, encouraging my supposedly straight housemate to jerk off with me had not been a sensible move. It wouldn’t quite make the top ten of stupid shit I’d done in my life, but maybe the top twenty.
But the look on Mason’s face when he’d seen me… the way his eyes had widened and his dick had visibly thickened in his shorts? It had been impossible not to. Besides, it wasn’t like he couldn’t have left at any time. He’d known what he was doing, and it’d been his choice to stay in my room and get his cock out.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t regret it today.
I wasn’t sure how far down the path of sexual exploration Mason had gone or whether he’d even really started, but I didn’t want to spook him. I didn’t think it would get ugly—I wouldn’t have moved in with two straight guys if I’d felt for a second like things could get weird, but Mason and I had really started to become friends over the last few months and I’d hate to ruin that.
“Mornin’, sleep okay?” Jonny asked as he sloped into the kitchen where I stood leaning against the counter contemplating my foolishness.
Jonny was the quieter of my two housemates, but looking like a gentle giant had never stopped him from thrashing Mason and me at Call of Duty . He was wearing a Lincoln Knights T-shirt, which would have been huge on me but on him it only gently skimmed his broad frame, and a loose pair of shorts, his dark hair rumpled and a few lines from his pillow still lingering on his stubble-dusted cheek. He’d probably just rolled out of bed.
“Yeah, not bad, thanks. Yourself?” I asked, sipping my instant latte and wondering if I could sweet-talk him or Mason into making me breakfast before I glued myself to my computer for the day. I’d always known that professional athletes ate a lot, especially when they were the size of Mason and Jonny, but it had still floored me the first morning I’d been here when I’d seen Jonny casually scooping several cups of porridge oats into a bowl, then sticking two slices of bread into the toaster and starting to scramble some eggs. Rugby Union players really were something else.
Jonny shrugged as he opened the fridge. “Yeah, weird dreams, though—I was being chased by secret agents but they also had shark heads? And fins. But they were wearing suits. And I could only speak French… but it was only French I know, so all I could do was ask how to find the sw imming pool and order a beer and a croque monsieur. It was bloody odd.”
I chuckled and reached over to flick the kettle on, which still had enough water in it for both the boys to have a cup of tea. “Your French sounds about as good as my Spanish. I guess if we ever go on holiday, we’ll be living on beer, wine, croque monsieurs, and ice cream.”
“Sounds like a pretty good holiday to me.” He tilted his head back so he could see me around the fridge. “Do you want breakfast? I’m gonna make some scrambled eggs.” He hummed for a second. “Probably some cornflakes too.”
“Eggs would be great, thanks,” I said. “Do you want toast? I got some sourdough from that new bakery down the road.”
“Nice. Hang on, I’ll ask Mason if he wants some too. I dunno where he is. He’s usually up by now.”
Probably avoiding me, I thought as I took another sip of my coffee. Or he was dead from embarrassment. I sighed and shook my head. If he didn’t want to talk about it, that was fine, but he couldn’t just pretend I didn’t live here, especially since he’d been the one to invite me to take the room in the first place.
I’d met Mason, and later Jonny, through their former housemate, West, whose boyfriend was one of the drag artists I worked with regularly at The Court, Lincoln’s only gay bar and drag club. We’d been at a drag story hour last Christmas, and Mason had introduced himself during the break by telling me he’d seen one of my shows and how much he’d loved it. And from there, we’d just clicked.
I’d never expected to make friends with a professional sportsman who could crush my head between his enormous thighs, but that was mostly because I’d always avoided sporty men like the plague. Doing PE at school had been an unrelenting series of horrors I’d been very happy to see the back of, and ever since then I’d kept my distance from anything and everything related to popular sport.
But Mason had surprised me and I’d been delighted to discover he had a quiet, nerdy side, which I’d gently begun to encourage. We’d come to this unspoken arrangement where he’d watch all the anime, fantasy, and science fiction shows I suggested to him, and I’d sit and watch sport with him while he attempted to explain the rules.
Which was more fun than I’d expected, especially since Mason’s explanations were often interrupted by his own commentary on the game or Jonny telling him he was wrong.
“Mason?” Jonny yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “You up? I’m making eggs for me and Ryan. Do you want some?”
I couldn’t hear his response, but I was going to assume it was a yes. Even in his embarrassed state I doubted Mason would turn down having breakfast made for him. Putting my coffee mug down, I grabbed the large folded brown paper bag the sourdough was wrapped in, put the loaf on the nearby cutting board, pulled the bread knife out of the drawer, and began to cut some thick slices. They weren’t exactly neat or even, but it was only for toast, so I didn’t think anyone would care as long as they got some.
I put the smaller end piece to the side to eat as an extra snack while I waited for the toast, keeping a close eye on it as I pottered over to the fridge to get the spread since any food perceived as spare got eaten in the blink of an eye.
“He’s coming down,” Jonny said as he walked back into the kitchen, glancing at the bread. “Is that end—”
“It’s mine,” I said. “Paws off.”
Jonny chuckled. “All right, I was just asking.”
“Bloody gannets you two are,” I said as I retrieved another knife and began to slather a thick layer of spread on my precious pre-breakfast snack. “Do you want tea? The kettle’s about to boil.”
“Cheers, that’d be great,” Jonny said as he began cracking a dozen eggs into a massive glass jug. Above us, I could hear the sounds of Mason moving around, so I dug two mugs out of the cupboard above the kettle. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Mason this morning. He’s dawdling like mad. I wonder if it’s because he doesn’t want to do legs this morning, especially because we’ve got drills all afternoon.”
I hummed, trying to pretend I had no idea what might be behind Mason’s reluctance. “Maybe. I’m not sure anyone really ever wants to do drills after a leg workout.”
“It’s not that bad once you get going. Could be worse.”
Mason’s heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs as I poured water into the mugs and slid four of the six sourdough slices into the toaster. I tried to ignore the way my heart rate kicked up or the way my skin tingled as the memory of his choked-back moans resurfaced.
I really shouldn’t have pushed things last night because I’d totally forgotten that I’d also have to deal with the consequences. It’d felt like a bit of fun at the time, but now I had to live with the memory of Mason’s orgasm face carved into my brain and the horrible knowledge that I’d never see it again.
If I was suddenly granted the power of time travel, I’d go back to that moment and savour every second.
I’d also get a better look at his dick too, because the glimpses I’d gotten hadn’t been nearly enough.
“Jesus, mate, what time do you call this?” Jonny asked teasingly as Mason walked into the kitchen, and I couldn’t resist looking across at him.
I’d always thought Mason was cute with his wide shoulders, thick thighs, and blue-grey eyes that always sparkled with life. His skin was tanned from the summer sun, which had dusted his nose with freckles and also added a distinct ginger sheen to his hair and the short beard he’d grown over the past few months because he’d been too lazy to shave every day. He had a half sleeve of tattoos on one arm, which he’d never gotten around to finishing, and when I looked closely, I could tell his nose was ever so slightly off centre, which didn’t surprise me given the number of times he’d apparently broken it over the past twenty-six years.
Like Jonny, he was wearing a dark blue Lincoln Knights T-shirt and a pair of shorts, which clung to his ass and thighs, highlighting just how fucking round and firm his butt was. I could stare at it for days.
I wasn’t going to because that would be rude, but I could.
“Sorry,” Mason said. “I overslept.” He glanced at me and a dark blush bloomed across his nose, his eyes widening comically. I just smiled innocently at him .
“You didn’t stay up late again gaming, did you?” Jonny asked, oblivious to the tension in the air. God bless the man.
“Nah, I just couldn’t sleep.” He forced a grin onto his face, and I knew it was forced because it didn’t reach his eyes. It made his whole face looked strained. “Probably because I could hear someone snoring through the bloody wall.”
“Wasn’t me,” Jonny said as he reached over and pinched the spread and began adding some to the frying pan he’d set on the hob. “I don’t snore.”
“Yeah, right, you sound like a fucking jet engine.”
“Ask Ryan, he’s on the other side of me.” Jonny turned to me as he poured the beaten eggs into the hot pan, scrambling them with a wooden spoon. “Ryan, have you ever heard me snoring?”
“No,” I said, picking up my latte and sipping it. My eyes met Mason’s and his blush deepened. “But once I’m out, I’m out.”
“I’ll take that,” Jonny said. “See?”
“I’m gonna ask West. He’ll back me up,” Mason said. He rubbed his chin and sighed. “Is that tea for me?”
“Yeah, there’s one each. I haven’t put anything in them except water, though,” I said. The toaster popped and I went to examine the sourdough since the pieces were so big I had to toast one end at a time. I turned them over and put them back on. If I’d thought about it, I’d have done them under the grill because it would’ve been faster.
I sipped my latte again as I watched Mason finish making his and Jonny’s tea. He was holding himself stiffly, like he was carrying a lot of tension in his back and shoulders, and whenever he could he kept looking over at me. It was like he couldn’t decide what to do or say, but he was obviously flustered.
That was okay. I could work with flustered.
I popped the toast up and plucked the finished pieces out, stepping sideways to put them on the chopping board… which happened to be right beside Mason. I put the last slices of bread into the toaster, retrieved the spread from Jonny—which now had a large gouge in the middle, did the man not know how to use a knife?—and began to butter the finished toast.
Tension radiated from Mason and he seemed to be frozen in place, holding a teaspoon in mid-air.
“Jonny said you’re doing legs and more drills today?” I asked casually, not looking at him.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah… we’re currently doing a mix of strength and conditioning and team practice. But it’s only a couple of weeks until the first round of the Premiership Cup starts, so just gotta get on with it, really.”
I nodded. Mason had explained the way the league and various tournaments they played in worked, and we had a calendar on the fridge with all the matches marked on it, along with all my drag shows so we knew where we’d all be. “I’m sure you’ll survive,” I said.
“I’ll be pissed if I don’t. It’s my day off tomorrow. Probably won’t be able to move, though,” Mason said, finally lowering the teaspoon. “Have you got any plans today?”
“Just work. I’ve got a project to finish up for a client.” I was a freelance graphic designer and artist who did everything from branding to funky swag designs for drag artists, authors, and queer businesses. I wanted to start getting into printing and selling my own designs, but I needed to actually sit down and look at platforms, printers, and all the shit I needed to do rather than just dreaming about it. I finally glanced over at him and smiled. “I need to make some props for the weekend too.”
“Just don’t hot glue your hand to your foam again,” Mason said with a wry chuckle, the tension finally starting to leach from his shoulders. Had he really expected me to bring up last night in front of Jonny? Or was there something else on his mind?
“That was one time and it was only two fingertips.”
“Doesn’t matter if it was two fingertips or both hands, you still glued yourself to foam.”
“At least I managed to get it off without losing too much skin,” I said. It had all peeled off much more easily than I’d imagined, especially once I’d gotten Mason to smear some olive oil across it.
“Good job,” Mason said, winking at me. “Just don’t do it again.”
I laughed. “No promises. After all, what’s life without a little chaos?”
Mason looked at me for a second and tilted his head to one side. “Boring, I suppose.”
“Exactly. And nobody wants that.”
“No… I guess they don’t,” Mason said. He was still looking at me and my stomach flipped. “Maybe… maybe I could do with a little chaos.”
I grinned at him, opening my mouth to respond—until Jonny tapped the side of the frying pan with the wooden spoon, shattering the moment with as much grace as a bull in a china shop. “Eggs are ready,” he said, completely unaware that he’d just trampled over whatever it was I was having with Mason. “How’s the toast?”
“It’s here,” I said as I put the rest of my thoughts back in their box. I’d talk to Mason later and see where his head was at.
Because if he was down for a little chaos, then so was I.